They seeped into the small space eager to get the chairs which had been placed around the edge of the room where they could rest their silver heads against the walls. They greeted each other profusely. It had been a week since they last met. They shifted their chairs to their satisfaction, exchanging news on the weather as they busily arranged and re-arranged their coats on the back of their seats.
Then it started. The author had begun to read a few passages from her most recent book. The ladies listened intently. To begin with. Hearing aids switched on, fingers twitching, bodies leaning forward, glasses perched on the ends of noses. And as the thread of the story became hard to follow and the author's monotonous drone cradled the ladies into another world, eyelids closed, heads drooped and mouths opened.
The author closed her book. A pause followed. The silence became very loud. Eyelids opened, parched mouths snapped shut, heads stood to attention with startled gazes as thoughts were dragged back to the present. Every lady had a question. Every lady had something of interest to add to the passage which had just been read as long as whatever was discussed revolved around what they had written, what they had seen, what they thought.
When is it that you stop listening to what others have to say?
